


drama queen

by haileymadisxn



Category: Henry Danger (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Original Character(s), Originally Posted on Wattpad, bianca and henry are still dating, famous person - Freeform, i haven't watched this show in years, i've had this idea in my head since the sixth grade and i'm just now getting around to it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-02-28 20:34:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18763714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haileymadisxn/pseuds/haileymadisxn
Summary: "Fame is like playing dominoes -- one wrong move and you topple everything over. Only you can’t restart."***in which a new girl finds herself in Swellview learning about life, love, and her origins.





	1. Chapter 1

**PROLOGUE**

**_THIS JUST IN: FIRE BREAKS OUT AT ENTERTAIN STUDIOS_ **

_During the filming of the hit teen musical sitcom “L.A. Arts”, the studio caught fire during shooting and spread around the lot, destroying many valuable set pieces, such as the main character’s signature gold star backpack, and the iconic stage set._

_According to an inside source, the fire was started by leading actress Gigi Quinn while she was harassing an assistant for getting her Starbucks order wrong._

_“Gigi is a monster,” the anonymous source confides. The inside source adds that this is not the first time Giselle has wrecked things in the show in anger. “She’s destroyed two microphones, a camera, and a mini-fridge because things weren’t going her way. She’s not very pleasant to work with, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she set something on fire in rage.”_

_However, Miss Quinn had other words to say._

_“I didn’t start the fire, I swear,” Quinn says. “I got angry, and the next thing you know, something caught aflame. From the other side of the hallway. I couldn’t have!”_

_The fire started five feet from where Miss Quinn was having her argument, according to eyewitnesses, but were too wrapped up in watching TeenBeat’s “Hottie of the Month” Adrian Sanchez, who portrays Carlos Mendoza on the show, walk past just as the fire started. The anonymous source says that before Adrian came into the scene, Giselle marched to the craft service table and lit it, just to start drama._

_“She craves it,” the anonymous source adds. “That girl is nothing but trouble.”_

_“L.A. Arts” is currently filming its fourth season, following Lulu Panganiban’s (Quinn) journey through her junior year of high school while she juggles theatre, her yet-to-be announced audition results for her own TV show, and her finally-blossoming relationship with Carlos Mendoza (Sanchez). It is unknown if the show will keep shooting after this tragic accident._

**_Article taken from TeenBeat.com_ **

 

**CHAPTER ONE**

_Giselle_

The cameras flash in front of me. I shield my face and duck my head down as guards escort me from the hospital for minor burns.

“Miss Quinn! Miss Quinn!” all of them clamor at once. “Who do you think started the fire?”

I walk past quickly as the guards push towards the car, ignoring the reporters and the questions, but they keep asking.

“How badly did you get burned?”

“What is the future of ‘L.A. Arts after this?”

I duck out of the way of some reporter from NBC, shielding my face as I push past them.

“Are you really a diva?”

“What’s your comment on your relationship with Adrian Sanchez?”

I step into the black, unmarked car and strap myself into the backseat. The driver slowly pulls out of the hospital’s entrance/drop-off zone.

“Why did you start the fire? Is it because you didn’t get your way again?”

That’s it.

“Stop the car,” I demand.

Even in the car, the surrounding noise is louder than my voice.

“Stop the car!” I scream.

It halts to a stop and I step out of the car, pausing in front of the press to address them. The buzz doesn’t cease completely; it hushes, with only a few murmurs here and there and the flashing of the cameras.

“For your information, I didn’t start the damn fire. I was five _feet_ away from it when it started. Five feet! That’s about how tall I am! And why the here would I cost the best job of my life? Just because of some assistant who didn’t know the difference between a green tea frappuccino and a green tea iced latte? I wouldn’t cost my high-paying job for five dollars. So get off my ass!”

I yell this as I glare right at a certain reporter who shoves his microphone into my face, frantically writing every single word down. It’s Jacob Holtzmann, reporter for Pop Cheetah. He’s one of the most annoying teen reporters out there, always making it a big deal that he’s been a journalist since the age of ten. He’s forty now, and he’s _still_ writing about the latest teen drama.

He’s always up in everyone’s business and doesn’t seem to know the meaning of the phrase, “Go away”. We tried to file a restraining order against him when he was starting to get too close for comfort, when we found him waiting in my dressing room, but they wouldn’t hear it. They said it was “part of his job to bring the news to the public”. I think it’s just an excuse to watch teen girls undress.

I glare daggers at him, watching him copy my statement word for word. Then he pushes through the crowd to get to me. “But what about the set? Haven’t you broken enough?” he asks, face to face with me. His breath smells like raw fish.

“I said, ‘get off my ass!’” I step back, backing towards the car and my bodyguards. But he gets closer. I take another step back, and he pulls out his recording device. He comes near me; he looks even pervier up close. He has a creepy seventies type mustache and gallon-bottle glasses, with his beige shirt tucked into his brown-belted khakis to emphasize his potbelly.

“Hey, get away from her,” one of my bodyguards orders.

“It's my job to get the news out of her, ma’am,” Jacob spits.

I stare him down, nervous and scared at the same time. I silently hope there’s something that will get him away. I keep staring, as if that will make him suddenly slip and fall on his back, spraining his spine and injuring himself, just so he stays away.

But then, as if some magical force does it for me, he stumbles backwards, right onto the concrete sidewalk and onto his back.

“Owwwwwww,” Jacob whines. “My spine!” He manages to crane his neck up to look at me. “She pushed me!” he accuses, feebly wagging a finger at me.

“What?” I exclaim as reporters all bustle around him, doing one of three things: 1) trying to get proof of me laying a finger on Jacob, 2) helping Jacob up and into the hospital, or 3) trampling over him to get pictures of his injury. Most reporters are doing one and three.

They’re scrambling to me, and my bodyguards pull me back into the car before I can even get a word out to defend myself. The driver of the car screeches away, way past the speed limit of a hospital parking lot, as the reporters chase after the car and press themselves against the windows like zombies.

Fame is like playing dominoes -- one wrong move and you topple everything over. Only you can’t restart.

At least, not as quickly.

***

“Giselle Quinn Santos Peralta!”

I sit at the dining table, hands folded, standing up straight, as my parents circle back and forth, wondering what to do with me next.

“This is the fourth time you’ve had a fit on set and have broken something!” my mother, Cecilia, scolds me. “I can’t believe this!”

“ _Technically_ , it’s the fifth,” I mutter to myself, hoping she won’t hear.

“We didn’t ask for the sass, young lady!” my father, Lawrence, spits in my face. “Seriously, Giselle. Can’t you quit the diva for _five_ minutes?” He rubs his temples with his index and middle fingers.

“For the last time, I didn’t start the fire!” I argue, glaring right at both of them. “I didn’t break the cameras, and I didn’t break anything I’ve been accused of! Why won’t you believe me when I say it’s a coincidence?”

“Five times is not a coincidence!” my parents exclaim at the exact same time.

Cecilia slumps in the dining chair, hand to her head as Lawrence steps away to take a phone call. “What are we going to do with you?” she groans.

“I wasn’t even _near_ the fire, Cecilia, please listen to me,” I beg. My mom doesn’t like me to refer to her as “Mom”. It’s always been Cecilia. Same for my dad. Lawrence. I take her hands from across the table. “I literally just _looked_ at the candles as they fell, promise.”

Cecilia snatches her hands away from me. She’s never been a big fan of affection. “Giselle, you _pushed_ a reporter to the ground and broke his spine. How can I believe you?”

“I didn’t even touch him!” I shout. “I would never touch Jacob Holtzmann, that’s disgusting!”

Lawrence marches back into the room. “I just got off the phone with Entertain. The set is _ruined_.”

My jaw drops. Cecilia gasps, her hands covering her mouth. “The entire set?”

“Yes,” Lawrence answers. “Apparently, the craft service table where the candles fell was right next to a poorly-wired soundboard, and when the candles fell, they lit an open wire which just exploded the whole board, setting everything around it aflame.”

I’m not surprised; Entertain has a lot of problems with safety. A kid from the Make-A-Wish foundation had to find out that our studio wasn’t wheelchair-friendly the hard way: he was going up the ramp and then it just fell to the ground. Entertain was sued. (The kid was, thankfully, okay, and he got over five thousand dollars to go towards his chemo.)

Lawrence does the Sign of the Cross.

“Was anyone hurt?” I inquire.

“No, thank God.” Cecilia follows Lawrence as he prays. As they bow their heads and clasp their hands together, they look at me. I sigh and reluctantly bow my head as well. When they pick their heads up, I do too.

“But what about ‘L.A. Arts’? What about the show?” I suddenly ask. “My job?”

Cecilia rolls her eyes. “Seriously, Giselle? _That’s_ all you can think about right now?”

“It’s my _job_ , Cecilia,” I retort. “I need to know.”

“It will be on hiatus until further notice,” she answers. “Until then, they want you away from the set, and are even thinking about replacing you.”

I open my mouth to say something, but something else comes out. “Then what am I going to do? Stay here all day?”

Cecilia and Lawrence look at each other anxiously. They obviously hadn’t thought of that.

Then Cecilia pulls out her phone to dial a number. Lawrence goes upstairs and comes down with my suitcase. “Pack your things,” he orders.

I blink. “What? Wait, what?” I ask. “Where am I going?”

He doesn’t respond. He goes over to Cecilia, and they speak. It must be a unanimous decision because they only talk for a few minutes before they nod at each other and return to me.

“That was Roxanne,” Cecilia responds. “She’s arranged for you to stay at her house, and for you to attend high school there.”

“In _Swellview_?” I quiz incredulously.

They’re sending me to live with Cecilia’s sister. Roxanne to her, Roxie to everyone else around her, Aunt Roxie to me. She lives in Swellview. Don’t get me wrong, I love Aunt Roxie -- probably even more than I love Cecilia and Lawrence --, but Swellview is way different than Los Angeles. Swellview is home to the Frittle Factory, Six Poles Over Swellview, and not much else. It’s a tiny city, five hours north of Los Angeles, five hours north of my job, and five hours north of the only home I’ve ever known.

Then again, with the whole fire, do I even have a job anymore? And judging by the way Cecilia and Lawrence were so quick to send me away, was Los Angeles even much of a home to begin with? I think of all the times I’ve spent my days in this huge mansion, not doing anything except listen to music and memorize my lines. I don’t have many friends here to begin with, come to think of it.

In Swellview, I could get a huge start. Well, as huge as I can get. Obviously, with _L.A. Arts_ being off the air, I won’t need to go in disguise or anything. Maybe. And I’d get to go to school! Most people my age wouldn’t be super excited about that, but when you’ve been homeschooled/attending a fictional high school for most of your life, waking up at 6 am for an eight hour school day sounds like a nice break from waking up at 3 am for shoots and reshoots that can go for God knows how long.

Perhaps Swellview isn’t such a bad idea after all, but I still think L.A. is my home; I was born and raised here. Cecilia and Lawrence are still my parents; I come from them. While I prefer Aunt Roxie over anyone else in my life, the fact that Cecilia and Lawrence would give me -- their own flesh and blood -- up so easily without any hesitation leaves a harsh sting that brings tears to my eyes.

But I’d never admit that to Cecilia and Lawrence. They probably wouldn’t even care.

“Fine,” I huff. “I’ll start packing right away.”

With that, I go up to my room, lock the doors, and turn up my music to hide my crying, especially after I realize that was the longest conversation I'd had with my parents in a long time.


	2. Chapter 2

**HENRY**

When Piper picks up her phone, her eyes widen and she screams. She’s supposed to be sick, but after this, I’m pretty sure she only faked it to get out of her anger management lessons. I’m not surprised. I’m used to her screaming, yet it still makes me almost drop my phone into the bowl of popcorn I’m eating. “Jesus Christ, Piper!” I yell. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

My younger sister storms over to me, the fuzzy pink blanket still wrapped around her body like a towel, and waves her phone in my face. “Read it!” she orders, but she won’t keep her hand still, so I can’t.

I grab her wrist to steady her. “‘Musical teen drama “L.A. Arts” canceled’,” I read aloud.

This makes Piper howl even more. Her face is bright red, and there are actual tears streaming out of her eyes.

“Calm down,” I say, “it’s just a dumb TV show.”

“ _ Dumb TV show _ ?” Piper echoes. Her voice is loud, louder than usual. And with Piper, that’s saying a lot. “This show is my  _ life _ ! Do you know about my TwitFlash for it?”

She’s asking the wrong question -- who  _ doesn’t _ know about Piper’s TwitFlash for “L.A. Arts”, this hit TV musical show on cable about a girl who goes to a performing arts school? I only know about it through all my friends and who watch the show, since I don’t.

I get a notification from my own phone. It’s my girlfriend of five -- almost six -- months, Bianca. I smile when I pick it up. “Hey, B!” I greet. B is my personal nickname for her. Well, my best friend Jasper calls her that too, but I think she only likes it when I do it.

“Hey,” Bianca sniffs. Her voice quivers.

My heart races in worry. “Oh God, are you okay?” I sit up on the couch. “What’s wrong?”

She doesn’t respond, but I hear quiet sobs from her. “‘L-L-L.A. A-Arts’ got canceled,” she replies shakily.

I hold back the urge to groan. It’s  _ just  _ a TV show. And a mediocre one at that. Instead, I ask, “Do you want me to come over? Pick up some Skybucks?”

Bianca seems to cheer up, at least a little, because she replies, “Please?” There’s a hint of hope in her voice.

I pick up my car keys to leave, but my watch beeps. A signal for me to go to work, damn it.

“I’ll be there in a bit, I just have to go to work,” I tell her. Secretly, I’m relieved; I don’t have to hear about “L.A. Arts” for a little while. “But I’ll stop by soon, okay? I promise.”

“Okay,” Bianca says. She sniffles. “Bye.” She hangs up without another word. She’s distraught, I know it.

I get up from the couch and head out the door, and as I leave, I see Piper storm back up to her room. I’m outside, but I can still hear her slippered feet marching up the carpeted stairs. Maybe she needs those anger management classes after all.

***

I make a sloppy parallel park to Junk N’ Stuff, the pawn shop where I work. My watch hasn’t stopped beeping. In fact, it’s started to beep three times. It only does that when there’s a huge emergency.

I run inside. Jasper’s not even there to greet the customers coming into the stores. If he’s not there, it must be bad.

I rush to the back where the elevators are. I press the down button, and the doors immediately open. No one ever uses these elevators, unless they’re going down. I step in, and it plummets me to the ground. I only recently got used to it in the three years I’ve worked here.

The doors open to the basement, and my watch doesn’t stop beeping. I enter so fast I’m stumbling over my own feet.  When I get to the Man Cave, I ask, “What is it? What’s wrong? What’s going on? Is there an emergency?”

My boss, Ray, Jasper, and my other best friend, Charlotte, turn from the screen they were just watching. They’re shaking. The whites of their eyes are red, and they’re all quivering and holding each other.

“What’s wrong?” I ask again, rushing over to Jasper.

He just shakes his head and runs off, sobbing loudly. Ray and Charlotte are still holding each other tight, crying.

“Ray, Char, what’s wrong?” I echo.

Charlotte lets go of Ray, and he’s still trembling. My boss. Ray Manchester. Captain Man, who kicks villain and criminal ash on a daily basis, is crying so hard he can’t respond.

“Did you hear the news?” Charlotte asks in a quiet voice. For once, her voice isn’t thick with her usual sass and sarcasm. Her voice is trembly too.

“What news?” I quiz. I step closer and hug her tightly. Now she can’t respond because of her tears.

Ray comes towards us and engulfs us both in an embrace. Well engulfing mostly Charlotte. I’m almost as tall as Ray now. “‘L.A. Arts’ got canceled!” Ray cries out, burying his head into my shoulder.

I push both of them off of me. My boss, a  _ crime fighting superhero _ , was crying over a shirtty teen drama. “What the hell?” I yell for the second time today. “That’s why you’re so sad? Because of some dumb TV show?”

“It’s not just a dumb TV show!” Charlotte shouts. She goes over to me and pushes me onto the Man Cave’s couch. Now she’s towering over me. “How long have we spent binge-watching episodes of it?”

“We? Meaning you, Ray, and Jasper, and me on my phone because I really don’t care about it?” I correct her. “You know how I feel about ‘L.A. Arts’.”

I feel like I’m the only one in the city of Swellview, or maybe the whole state, or even the whole  _ world _ who doesn’t understand what’s so good about a bunch of high schoolers singing about their problems. If that’s what I wanted, I would’ve joined drama club, like Bianca. I hear they’re doing “Mamma Mia!” this fall. She’s been practicing so hard to be Sophie.

“Yeah, but can’t you show a little bit of compassion?” Ray asks, not helping me up.

I stand up myself and cross my arms. “It’s  _ just _ a TV show. There’ll be more and better ones out there.”

“There’ll be  _ nothing _ like ‘L.A. Arts’ out there!” Charlotte whines. She sounds like Piper now, which both annoys me and scares me. “Look, just because you don’t watch TV anymore doesn’t mean you’re high and mighty.”

“You almost had a breakdown when you found out ‘The Good Wife’ ended,” Ray interjects. “You can’t judge us for being sad over this.”

I blush. I have a guilty pleasure for soap operas, not teen TV shows, but I try not to make that public. “Well, one, ‘The Good Wife’ was good, and two, it deserved a happier ending than--”

Ray covers my mouth with his hand. “No. No spoilers. I still haven’t caught up.”

I push his hand off of me. “Whatever.”

Jasper returns, not sobbing as loudly as he was before, but tears are still in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I just… I let my emotions get to the best of me,” he says with a crack in his voice.

I put my hands up in resignation. “You’re all crazy. You’re all taking this out of proportion,” I tell them. “This show has turned you over-dramatic like that main girl, Lala? Lily?” I forget her name. I pause for a moment, thinking. “Lulu. That Lulu girl.” I sit back down. “And that ‘will they or won’t they’ trope is so overdone.”

Ray furrows his eyebrows, hand on his hip. “If you don’t watch the show, how do you know the name of the main girl?” he asks accusingly.

“And half the plot?” Jasper chimes in. Charlotte glares at me too.

I roll my eyes. “Piper watches it, remember?”

The three of them look at each other, obviously skeptical. “ _ Riiiiight _ ,” Ray responds as if he doesn’t believe me.

I don’t look at him. The truth is, I  _ have _ watched “L.A. Arts” before. But not as avidly as my friends do. I’ve seen a few episodes here and there and, honestly, it’s one of those shows that I love-to-hate-hate-to-love. Like “Riverdale”.

I’d never admit it aloud that I’ve seen the show, especially not to my friends. I have this reputation to uphold, where I  _ hate _ “L.A. Arts”. And I do. Because when you watch the show closely, it’s just people putting on costumes and lying. Anyone can do that. 

I mean, I do it all the time.


End file.
